


would you like to stay like this forever?

by sophthebi



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Culture, Death and the Maiden, F/M, Hårgalåten, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), May Day celebration, Swedish culture, and of course the may queen, and the dance, because i'm obsessed with that trope, foxxay - Freeform, just the aspects of harga and the fiddler, midsommar au sort of, millory, zadison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 04:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21368059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophthebi/pseuds/sophthebi
Summary: The witches celebrate the Swedish holiday of May day, partaking in the May Queen dance as a lesson on darkness and light and the harmony of them both.Mallory meets a man she knows as the fiddler in the Harga folktale, and the evil they were warned about.She realizes she is more susceptible to temptation than she thought.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Mallory
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	would you like to stay like this forever?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm not entirely sure what this is. All I know is that I wanted to write a "midsommar" inspired Millory fic, but also something different to the relationship between Dani and Pelle, and what happened in the film "Midsommar".   
So I went with the beautiful folk tale that inspired the May Queen dance scene in the movie, and the name of the commune.   
It's a very real legend/folk tale, and if anyone notices anything completely wrong, please tell me in the comments! I am no expert and am willing to learn more about this tale.

“Now, when dancing, they wore through both soul and body.  
Stop your bow, fiddler,  
Before we dance out life and soul and bones.”

||

Mallory knew of the myth long before she arrived to the coven. Her grandmother would speak of Harga and the fiddler as if she’d experienced it first hand, telling it in the same tone, in the same chair, and with the same expression of anguish, always on the first evening of May every year without fail. Mallory could almost recite the story and then the folk song to all her sisters if they wanted her to. 

But she kept it to herself, presenting wide-eyed curiosity, listening intently to Myrtle get few details right and repressing the desire to correct every incorrect turn of events.

“The Swedes have some of the most exquisite legends, they’re indeed very sacred with their ancestral traditions-”

“-Sacred traditions my ass. You know how many times I’ve got lost in Ikea? That place is worse than hell, and trust me, I’d know,” Madison interrupted Myrtle, taking a drag from her cigarette, unbothered by the hot sun burning down on her all-black attire. Mallory bit back a laugh at the way Myrtle stared the blonde witch down, although some of her sisters weren’t so fortunate in holding back their laughter. Madison shrugged, exhaling a gust of smoke. 

“Ladies … The reason Myrtle is telling you of this folk tale isn’t for fun and games. This is a lesson.” Miss Cordelia finally appeared in a long floral dress, fit for a Goddess. She had been with Misty in the greenhouse for most of the day, during Myrtles explanation and story-telling of Hårgalåten. Her brown eyes gazed across Mallory and her fellow students who sat, legs criss-crossed, on soft grass, peering up at Myrtle who sat upon a wooden chair, like an Elder sharing long-lost stories. “Yes, it isn’t our story, neither is it in our blood, but we have faced and will always face the evil that captured the youth in Harga.”

Mallory’s lips parted, tingles haunting the skin of her arms and legs, shivering from what must have been the cool breeze, not the look in Cordelia’s eyes. 

Evil. What evil had the coven faced? What evil could the coven possibly face that was present in the Swedish folk tale? Dancing till death?

Zoe stood from her seat next to Myrtle, receiving a signal from Miss Cordelia. Mallory waited along with her sisters in silence, both nervous and determined to learn more of this “evil”. 

“As witches, and even warlocks, we draw from a place of light. Although no one truly knows what this place is, or what the energy is made of, whether it’s a form of heaven, a peaceful afterlife, or an alternate dimension, a plane of existence more alien than human, we know that our powers are for good, as long as we intend for good.

“But … as we also know, there is a darkness. An opposing force to this light. There is below us. Hell.” Madison rolled her eyes.

“Trust me, it’s not so bad. Just eternal suffering and losing your god damn sanity,” Madison snapped at Zoe, throwing her faded cigarette by the other witch’s feet.

Zoe grimaced, but continued on as if nothing had occurred. “This darkness, or underworld, it taunts and seduces all of us. No matter how strong or innocent you think you are.” Mallory’s heart paused for a flutter of a moment. She found it almost impossible to gulp, to blink, feeling as though the eyes of this darkness was watching her from the depths of the soil, seeping up as weeds and entangling themselves around her body. 

“So, what is the lesson? How do we stop ourselves from being tempted by the darkness?” One of the girl’s spoke up, but Mallory was too lost in the bright world around her and the constant buzzing to know who it was that asked. 

“You don’t. You can’t,” Miss Cordelia finally answered, capturing Mallory’s attention. She smiled sadly. “The only thing you can do is attain a balance between the light and dark, we all have these opposing forces within us.”

“And to our great fortune, my dear girls, we happen to know a wonderful tradition the swedes practise on this sunny day to help us with such a task.” Myrtle grinned wide, voice frail but strong all at once. 

“And what’s that? Dance around like morons till we drop dead?” Madison remarked coldly, again drawing out laughter from the girls, even Myrtle herself. 

“Funny you should say such a thing. That’s precisely it. We dance till we drop…well, not dead, but we drop.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

||

Mallory stood barefoot, in her white dress, beneath the shadow of a handcrafted May pole, much like the ones seen in Sweden during May day celebrations. A crown of flowers, ranging from pansies to freesias, lilacs and peonies sat atop the pole, with threads of spring coloured tinsel paper dangling from a height and dancing with the breeze. 

Her sisters laughed and smiled, admiring the beauty of it amongst the open greenery of their very own haven, colours pastel and bright, little to no darkness. All pinks and purples and blues. Mallory felt free with them, holding onto the hands of her fellow sisters, circling around the pole. Myrtle, Cordelia, Madison, Zoe, Queenie and Coco were sitting out the dance, the six of them pardoning themselves with the excuse of old age or not having to partake in the activities as teachers, not students. And as for Madison, well, she said she’d rather stand on hot coals than dance under a phallic like object with tinsel hanging off of it like rainbow pubic hair.

“You’ll all wear a flower crown, decorated with lilies, flowers of innocence and the beginning of May. A great source of protection against an overwhelming darkness.”

Mallory hitched in a breath at the feel of the crown sitting atop her hair, feeling like a nymph or fairy ready to play and dance with Persephone in celebration of her return to the earth and her mother. 

“As you dance in harmony, hand in hand, draw in on your inner beauty and power. Allow both the light and dark to seep through your bones and flesh, and into the earth around you,” Zoe explained from a distance, her voice almost an apparition to Mallory’s ears. 

“And to add a challenge, whoever can dance the longest without spewing the hell up, will be crowned May Queen like the tradition. The May queen will get a day free from classes tomorrow,” Queenie said, her voice just as ghost like as Zoe’s to Mallory. She could barely feel the warm hands of the two girls beside her, could barely feel the sun or breeze, or the sweat already glistening on her skin. 

“You ready bitches?”

Everyone yelled yes, giggling and laughing. Everyone but her. 

The eyes, from below her or above. She was being watched. She peered up and down, all around her in a blur. Nothing abnormal, just green and spring and her sisters. 

Mallory wasn’t ready when the music began. It wasn’t Hårgalåten. It wasn’t like anything she had heard before. But when they all began moving their feet, slowly circling the pole, she recognised the magic in its every heartbeat, and before long she was speeding up, smiling with her sisters and heaving loud breaths of laughter as they danced awkwardly, transitioning into a more graceful movement. 

She twirled on her feet with her sisters, swapping partners and coming back to the old ones, criss-crossing around the Maypole under warm sun. 

She watched for the evil disguised as a fiddler but never found him, yet she could feel eyes still. 

Did the others feel it? The lingering rot following every single step, and every light stumble. Soon, girls began to fall over or vomit from the exertion and hotness of the May sun. At times she thought she’d be next, a flip of her stomach and a twist of her ankle, but every time she felt the temptation to fall, she was pulled back up. 

The eyes. 

The growing whispers hiding beneath the violin and drums and laughter. A name being whispered over and over right by her, a breath on her neck, or perhaps it was sweat dripping down her spine?

“Mallory.”

She gasped, stumbling again but finding her feet, continuing her eternal dance, fated by the evil to forever be seduced by his music. She swirled around and around the pole, arms outstretched to the sky, forever spinning to this madness, soon forgetting the lesson, the purpose of this ridiculous dance. 

Sometimes the words of grandmother would pass her blurred memory. Evil. Dancing till death. Soul and body. The fiddler. His wicked smile. His wicked gaze. His wicked hands playing with youth like puppets, him and his evil the puppeteer. 

The fiddler…

He was beautiful. Not scary. Wicked eyes not as wicked as grandmother told her. They weren’t empty coals, but the colour of clear sky. His lips weren’t stained with wretchedness, but soft and plump. His hair wasn’t knotted or dull, but rose gold and glittering under light.

He was the most beautiful being she had ever seen. 

And he watched her from afar, smiling gently, dressed in dark suit, silver chains attaching a cape around his neck and collar, flowing with the breeze behind him.

Not many of her sisters remained, but she was too focused on the man to care. 

She spun and spun, eyes always finding his. 

Mallory never wanted him to leave. She wanted his beautiful eyes on her for eternity, until she fell to her death. She wanted to call out to him, invite him to grasp her hand and dance just as she did. But he never moved. 

Not until she closed her eyes to harmonise her agitated breathing, for when she opened them, he was no longer there. A panic rose in her, she spun faster, spinning out of control in the slowly dimming world around her. 

Night was approaching as she danced alone outside, all her sister nowhere to be seen. Miss Cordelia and Coco and the others all gone. The house with blackness in their windows. Yet she couldn’t stop. 

Not until she bumped into something solid. Something warm and cold and alive and dead all at once. 

She almost fell, before being saved by a pair of large hands on either side of her waist, guiding her to a calm dance like in the beginning. She couldn’t see him, or look over her shoulder, but she knew it was him. 

Could smell the sweet scent of his cologne. Could feel the vibrations of his magic on the skin of her hips and waist. His nose in her hair, lips touching her ear as they danced in utter darkness. 

“Would you like to stay like this forever?” His voice was barely a whisper, unaffected by their movement. Unnatural but pleasant. 

“Yes,” Mallory heaved, before being spun away from him, her hand in his, quickly being captured back into his warmth and grip. 

He laughed loudly, the right side of her face pressed into his chest, his laughter vibrating into her head, haunting her. 

“No, you don’t. To be like this forever would leave you hungry, parched, rageful. You don’t belong in this eternal dance, not under night sky.”

He twirled her again, but this time she didn’t allow herself to be brought back into his embrace, instead forcing him to twirl with her. She caught sight of his face, a smirk on his lips and eyes twinkling with delight. 

“You’re the evil aren’t you?” Her voice was breathless compared to his. Not a sweat had broken out on his flawless skin. He smiled a grin with teeth, showing one to be slightly crooked. 

“Does the idea of that excite you, little maiden of spring?” 

She furrowed her brows at the title he suddenly placed on her. “Are you going to let me go?”

“Do you want to be let go? Or do you still wish to stay like this forever?” He held her close, hand gripped tightly on her waist, the other on her neck, cradling her head almost, as they spun in a forever circle. 

Did she wish to be forever hungry? Forever deprived and wanting more?

They came to an abrupt stop, almost causing her to fall over again. 

“It has been a pleasure dancing with you…”

“Mallory… Who, who are you?”

He smiled down at her, hand gently caressing tangles of her hair away from her face. “I am the evil you should be scared of.” His eyes fluttered, so did hers, as he leaned into her, tip of nose touching hers, hand on her neck pulling her in close. His lips parted just by hers. 

“Or you could just call me Michael.”

Mallory’s eyes opened immediately after he kissed her on her forehead, and plucked a flower from her crown, telling her he’d see her again soon. 

She lay on the grass, while one of girls jumped up and down in delight, receiving the title of may queen and a reward of a free day tomorrow. 

All Mallory could think of however, was Michael, the touch of his lips, and the promise of another dance.


End file.
